


No Excuses- No Lies

by Amster



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amster/pseuds/Amster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John believes that Sherlock's especially clandestine and enigmatic behavior means that Sherlock is cheating on him. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Excuses- No Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the johnlockchallenges Valentines day fic exchange. My prompt was: 
> 
> Based on the information you have provided, we have decided to match you with ‘piercethehannah' to fill their request for a fic. Their prompt is: “Teenlock. John thinks Sherlock's cheating. Happy, fluffy ending.”. Their preferred rating(s) is(are) G, T, M, E. Remember, prompts are only the basis of your work - it is up to you as to how you interpret them. The genre(s) they have requested is(are): Angst. Once again, it is up to your discretion and interpretation. Their deal-breakers are: ”None”. They have specified that they are fine with spoilers.
> 
> Well here it is! A few days shy of valentines, but here nonetheless. Better late than never.

They were sprawled together on the bed, John crouching over Sherlock's lean body as he kissed him, shirt riding up his back. Sherlock, however, was making no effort to save John's modesty in the unlikely event that one of John's parents would walk in. Rather his fingertips were stroking over the exposed skin of John's lower back, sending shivers up his spine. John pushed his fingers through Sherlock's curls and traced the prodigy's full lips with his tongue. They had been here for a while, pressed up against each other, snogging, lips working together to make them both breathless and high off the other. Eventually John pulled away, however reluctantly, to pull his shirt back down and get some oxygen to his brain. As usual, Sherlock's kisses made him lightheaded. But that probably had something to do with the fact they lasted nearly twenty minutes sometimes. 

"Out of breath are we John?" Sherlock teased, though his chest was heaving just as much as John's and his words came out weak and shallow. 

John rolled his eyes and leaned down to shower a series of affectionate kisses upon Sherlock. In response, Sherlock's head lifted up off the pillow, drawn by the enticing taste and feel of John's lips. They somehow both ended up sitting in each other's laps, legs thrown over hips in a mad tangle, as they kissed. Chuckling, John pulled away again to look Sherlock over. The dark curls were disheveled and his lips were bright red. Kiss-bruised. John ran his thumb over Sherlock's swollen lips, panting. 

Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, breathing heavily. Leaning in again, John went to press his lips once again to Sherlock's, but the other pulled away. 

"It's late," Sherlock murmured. "You should probably go to bed.

"Aren't you staying over?" John asked, slightly confused and obviously disappointed. 

Sherlock always spent the night on weekends. It's what they did. Sherlock's family rather liked John, so they were fine with it. John's family couldn't bring themselves to give a shit about John, much less anyone in his bed. They didn't give a fuck who spent the night. They didn't really give many fucks. As a result, every weekend, John and Sherlock slept together. Occasionally they would do more than just sleep. John had been hoping tonight would have been one of those nights. 

"I can't," Sherlock replied, disentangling himself from John. Reluctantly, John pulled back, allowing Sherlock to free himself. Perhaps what made Sherlock's statement most disquieting was that not once since they had started dating, nearly a year ago, had Sherlock missed one of their nights together. John was more than a little disappointed. 

"Why?" John asked. 

No response came. Sherlock simply pulled on his coat and left, leaving John alone in an empty room. And in an even emptier home.

 ***

John felt Sherlock's comforting weight lift off the bed, disappearing yet again from beside him. All was silent apart from a gentle rustling as Sherlock slipped out from beneath the sheets and pulled his shirt on. For the past three weeks Sherlock had been doing this, creeping out into the night and leaving John alone in his bed to feel as Sherlock's spot grew steadily colder. And then, just before the sun would rise, he would return and tuck himself around John again as if he had never been gone. He must not have known John woke the minute he pulled away and heard the minute he closed the door. 

As it had the weekend before, the door clicked shut and John was once again alone. Sighing, John stared numbly up at the darkened ceiling of the room, eyes slowly focusing as they adjusted to the dark. The lies were nearly too much to bear. But what else did he expect? How could he have believed that he could hold Sherlock's attention for long? He was too ordinary. Too dull to occupy the dazzling genius of Sherlock Holmes. 

That didn't prevent him from feeling as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest. 

 ***

 It didn't take long for John's feelings of hurt and betrayal to fade and for John's rage to set in. For fuck's sake, he wasn't a complete idiot. He would have to be blind not to see something was going on with Sherlock. 

Sure, maybe he wasn't nearly as brilliant as the great Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps his observational skills couldn't hold a candle to the genius'. But did Sherlock really believe he could keep up the lie forever? Did he really believe John would let him? 

He was cheating on John. 

And the fact he wouldn't just come out and say it was really pissing him off.

John balled his fists as Sherlock climbed out of bed and got dressed. He was at his breaking point. When it came to Sherlock, John was _so_ patient. Temper tantrums, fits of depression, rude comments, messes, people that Sherlock pissed off, were all things John dealt with on a daily basis. Still, John managed to keep his temper and even managed to be gentle. But the lies, he couldn't take. 

And if Sherlock couldn't manage to be honest and loyal... Then it had to end. 

The door gently clicked shut. 

 ***

 All night, John stayed awake waiting for Sherlock to return. In his head, he rehearsed over and over what he was going to say. He never had been good at this stuff... Surrendering his emotions to someone. Even if he had known them for years, like he had with Sherlock. It was better to turn to prepared words. But he couldn't even begin to put together what to say. 

Finally, when the grey dawn was first beginning to show, Sherlock's dark silhouette appeared in the doorway. Anything John had planned to say completely disappeared from his mind. What could he say to explain how angry he was? How forsaken he felt? 

He felt Sherlock settle in the bed beside him, body pressing up against his back, arm wrapping around his waist. John knew Sherlock could sense it. At that moment Sherlock was probably assessing and cataloging every idiosyncrasy atypical of John. Maybe it was the tight shoulders and tense muscles that tipped him off of, or an irregular breathing pattern. 

"John, are you awake?" Sherlock asked. 

The blond pursed his lips, not responding to Sherlock. First he had to collect himself. Steel himself for what was to come.

"John?" 

"Where were you Sherlock?" John asked curtly, his voice low and intense. 

As usual Sherlock responded quickly, preparing a lie instantaneously. He was such a quick thinker, and that always got him out of all sorts of problems and tricky circumstances. "I just got up to use the loo." 

 Not this time. 

"No Sherlock. I want the real answer. No more bloody lies. Frankly I'm tired of them," John growled, keeping still and keeping his back to Sherlock. 

"John I-" 

"NO!" John shouted, jerking his body out of Sherlock's grasp and getting out of the bed completely. He couldn't bare to be near Sherlock while he lied through his teeth. Instead he whirled on him, body quivering with rage. "I don't want to hear excuses Sherlock. I'm done with excuses. I'm done with lies. You've been keeping a secret from me for months. I want to know where you've been going in the middle of the night." 

The room fell painfully silent. In the room the air was tense and stagnant, making it hard for either of them to breath. Finally Sherlock broke the silence. 

"I can't tell you-"  
"WHY NOT?" 

Again the room went quiet. Sherlock looked down, studying the coverlet instead of having to look at John. 

"Are you clean?" John asked, voice tight but at least a bit quieter. 

Sherlock scoffed scornfully, glaring at John "Of course!" 

"Then where have you been going?" John's words were deliberate, filled with suppressed fury that seeped out with each syllable. His fingernails dug into his palms and his jaw clenched tightly as he waited for a response. Just as he thought, none came. "Get out." 

"What?" 

"I said, _get out_. Get out of my _fucking_ room," John snarled grabbing Sherlock's heavy black coat, and throwing it forcefully at him. Stunned, Sherlock remained rooted, too shocked to move. "Do I have to fucking say it again?" 

Sherlock bit his lip, slipping out of the bed and pulling his black Belstaff coat on. His movements were slow, and for once, Sherlock didn't have anything to say. It gave John a twisted, bitter sense of satisfaction that Sherlock, Mr Punchline, didn't have the last word this time. But before Sherlock left the room he stopped and turned to John.

"I'm sorry that I lied to you John... I'm so sorry. But I wanted it to be a surprise." 

John's brow furrowed, suspicious and confused. "What?" 

Sherlock cast his eyes down. John could practically see one of his rare blushes. "I, erm... I'm buying you a flat." 

The blond's jaw dropped and he stared at Sherlock, flabbergasted. It took him what seemed like ages to collect his thoughts and scrap together some sort of response. "I... I don't understand." 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Sherlock quickly typed in his password before handing it to John. On it were pictures of a beautiful, big flat right at the heart of London. John scrolled through the pictures, amazed. It was somewhat of a mess inside, but apart from that it was perfect. 

"I was going to give it to you for you birthday... I know you're miserable here," Sherlock explained, taking his phone back and slipping it into his pocket. 

John's throat closed up and suddenly he felt like crying. In all of his life John had never felt more relieved or more thrilled. He threw his arms around Sherlock, kissing him joyfully, albeit a bit sloppily. But he was too happy to really care about the quality of the kiss. "How is this even possible?" He whispered, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. 

"I told my parents you aren't happy at home, so they helped me get in touch with a family friend Mrs. Hudson. She owns some property in central London and she was willing to lower the rent. I've been working late nights to get the first few payments together for you. I got my parents and a few of your teachers to be references... Everything is in order. The only stipulation is Mrs. Hudson wants to meet you. Since your birthday is only a few weeks away, I figure you could meet her next weekend and have you moved in by the time you turn nineteen."

Now it was John's turn to be speechless. All he could do was press another jubilant kiss to Sherlock's lips, hand cupping Sherlock's neck so that he wouldn't be able to break the kiss, so they were locked together. He held to Sherlock tightly, as if to reassure himself that Sherlock was still here with him. And that Sherlock would always be.

Eventually, John pulled his lips away from Sherlock's, but only enough to allow him to whisper against Sherlock's lips. "I thought... I thought you were cheating on me." 

Sherlock started laughing as if the statement was entirely ridiculous and irrational. "John you really are an idiot," Sherlock chuckled, threading his fingers through John's sandy blond hair. "I could never. Would I lie to you?" 

"Shut up." And to ensure that Sherlock would, John kissed him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone notices any grammatical errors, please inform me! I didn't have time to edit!


End file.
